


My Vision is Swimming With You

by PositivePumpkin



Series: Whumptober 2019 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Crowley is a big damn hero, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Delirium, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No actual rape/noncon, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), heed warnings, none of the noncon/assault/harassment/drugging is between aziraphale and crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 06:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: Whumptober Day 3: DeliriumIn which Aziraphale visits his old discreet gentlemen's club, to find it's turned into a modern day lgbtq club. He ends up getting roofied and Crowley has to step in to save the angel's virtue.





	My Vision is Swimming With You

Aziraphale’s discreet gentleman’s club had changed quite a bit over the years. Yet, in some ways it hadn’t changed at all. It had once been a place where men, or man-shaped beings, could come and dance and have a grand time with other men. Now it was a place where men, women, or otherwise could come and dance and have a grand time with their own and other gendered people. It had become more inclusive that way.

Aziraphale had quite enjoyed visiting in the past. Although, the current music was primarily what he thought of as ‘bebop’ but had been told it was ‘club music’ and ‘electronical,’ and he wasn’t sure how music could run on electricity. He was still enjoying himself, having a brightly coloured cocktail, when he was bumped into from behind. The angel turned to see a tall, rather large man apologizing for knocking into him.

“Sorry, there love,” the rather gruff man said, placing his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, squeezing appreciatively. He seemed to give Aziraphale a once over, before sitting next to him, “here, let me buy you a drink to make up for it.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, it’s no trouble,” the angel smiled, appreciative of this human’s kindness, nonetheless. It was nice to be surrounded by all the joy and acceptance, and he found himself revelling in it, in his own, more subdued way. He briefly thought of Crowley, sure the demon would love this place too, for the music if nothing else.

“I’d like to, if that’s alright?” He waved the bartender down and, after looking at Aziraphale’s drink, ordered something equally colourful and delightfully fruity. He passed the drink over as Aziraphale finished his current colourful concoction. “So, I haven’t seen you here before, you new in town? Or just checking out the hottest club in Soho?”

“Ah, well, I used to frequent this establishment a rather long time ago,” Aziraphale hedged, he could be quite good at lying, thanks to some tips from Crowley. He sighed, unable to keep the melancholy inside him any longer. All his thoughts came back to Crowley in the end, didn’t they? Well, he was already thinking about him, no sense in not wondering where the demon was currently, what he was up to, if he was still even going by ‘he.’

The man hummed, seeming to realise Aziraphale wasn’t fully present, “it’s changed a bit over the years, sure, but I think that’s a good thing.” The man, who Aziraphale was just realising he never got his name, leaned in close, bumping shoulders amicably.

“Yes, it is certainly more inclusive now,” Aziraphale offered the stranger a smile, “I’m realising I never asked your name, how rude of me. My name is Aziraphale.” Aziraphale held out his hand, which the human took and shook eagerly.

“Chad,” the man, Chad, smiled toothily. He was taller than the angel, but then, a lot of men were taller than him. Which of course, wasn’t fair, the average height in Britain was supposed to be 5’ 9” and he was an inch taller. But then again, he liked that Crowley was taller than him. Only three inches, except when the demon wore heels, which was always a pleasant surprise. And he was back to thinking about Crowley.

“So, what are you doing here? It’s quite a long way from Heaven,” Chad took a long sip of his drink, and Aziraphale found himself absently copying the motion, head swimming as he tried to figure out what the man meant by his statement. “I’m sure they’re missing their prettiest angel.”

Aziraphale floundered, both flustered by the compliment and thoroughly confused. It was rare that he was left speechless, and sure enough after a couple seconds he managed to get his thoughts together enough to speak. “I’m not exactly the angelic ideal, but thank you for the compliment,” he was sure there was a dusting of pink on his cheeks. Whether that be from the rather strong alcohol, or the compliment, he wasn’t sure.

Come to think, this was only his third drink, he normally had much better tolerance than this, what with being a literal actual angel. “Terribly sorry,” Aziraphale was beginning to slur his speech, “I think I might’ve had too much to drink. I really ought to get home.”

“Here,” Chad said, pushing the drink in front of Aziraphale closer, “finish up your drink and I’ll walk you home, I’d hate for something bad to happen, knowing I might’ve been able to do something.” And wasn’t that quite kind? Well, Aziraphale could hardly say no to a human performing a good deed, even if the angel didn’t think he particularly needed it.

“Well, that would be quite nice of you,” Aziraphale agreed, finishing his drink in one long gulp. He allowed the man to take his arm and lead him through the mass of bodies still writhing to the loud music of the club. The dancing was quite indecent, but at least everyone seemed to be having fun. 

Once outside Aziraphale felt both better, and strangely worse. He was starting to feel rather dizzy, perhaps modern cocktails were quite a bit stronger than the once he used to share with the gentlemen from long ago. Without really meaning to, he was beginning to lean heavily on Chad, not really realising that said human had begun to lead the way. 

The man had led the angel into an alley, not terribly far from the club. Aziraphale tried to protest, but found himself shoved up against a brick wall. The quick, rough movement caused his head to swim and nausea to overwhelm him. Chad pressed against him, biting and marking up his neck, terribly rough and not at all pleasant. Added to that the smell of old cigarette and alcohol made Aziraphale’s already upset stomach roil. 

Chad’s hands were wandering and grabbing at his soft corporeal body everywhere. They paused to roughly palm his chest and dig into his thighs, before one settled against his arse and the other stroked his groin. This gave him some pause however, “wait, are you trans? Where is your cock?”

“Don’t have one,” Aziraphale groaned, feeling altogether too hot, and not in a pleasant way. He felt dizzy and sick, and just wanted a lie-down. He tried to shove at the man, but found his limbs weren’t quite cooperating as his whole body felt leaden. “Got nothing down there, certainly not for you at any rate,” Aziraphale couldn’t hold onto his anger for long with how strange he was feeling, instead his voice broke into a low whine, “I’d just like to go home.”

"Angel?" Crowley's voice cut through the haze that had befallen Aziraphale. He turned his head, causing his vision to swim as he took in the lovely outfit she was wearing. A long black silky looking dress with one strap in the shape of a red and gold serpent. Another serpent design was sliding along a rather indecently high slit up the demon's long leg. Crowley was wearing tall heels that seemed to sharpen to a point as well as fishnet stockings that had a curling snake pattern. Over her arm without the strap was a gold chain attached to a purse that was more like a large pocketbook. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale slurred, his tongue felt heavy and awkward and his mouth didn’t quite move the way he had wanted it to. He idly shoved at the man who was still pressed against him, hand roughly palming his trousers. It didn’t make sense, but then, right now a lot of things weren’t making sense.

“Aziraphale, what is going on?” Crowley’s voice lowered, dark and threatening. It was hard to tell her expression the way she was tilting and swaying, or was that him? He closed his eyes against the wave of nausea and felt his head hit the brick wall he was shoved up against. Crowley was getting closer now, he could hear the click of her heels on the cobblestone.

“Mm not sure, just want to go home,” Aziraphale slurred once more, the man pressing against him didn’t seem to notice Crowley, whether that was by design or not was too much for the angel to grasp at the moment. He tried to shove the man away, so he could better focus on Crowley, but his body felt too heavy and lethargic. He instead rolled his head back to look at the demon, whose face had twisted in fury.

Chad was suddenly off him and Aziraphale could only slump to the filthy ground without the support. The movement made him heave, though he hadn't quite managed to bring anything up. He couldn't focus as Crowley did… something to the human that had him swinging. The angel gasped, trying to force his uncooperative body upright to defend her, but was unable to do anything but watch. The demon had never been a fighter, barely knew which end to hold a sword from, but she had always been clever. 

Without being fully aware of what was happening, Aziraphale saw Crowley’s image blur, which might have just been him, and then Chad was running. Another dizzying shift and Crowley was in front of him, her blessedly cool hands on his face. From this close Aziraphale could see that her hair was actually quite long, just kept partially up, large chunks of it spilling out in beautiful waves. Even her hair couldn’t be kept idle for long. Aziraphale drunkenly reached out to feel the soft, downright silky hair in his hands. He was aware that Crowley was talking, but he couldn’t actually parse anything that was said.

“What did he do to you, angel?” Crowley whispered, leaning into the hand idly feeling a rivulet of hair. Crowley reached under Aziraphale’s arms and gently helped the angel to stand. She waited as Aziraphale groaned and swayed, until with a bit of a press, he leaned heavily against Crowley. “Come on, let’s get you to the bookshop.” 

She startled when she felt Aziraphale’s hand rubbing and fingering her silk dress, not that Aziraphale really noticed. His attention was on the material rubbing between his fingers. It was easier, walking with Crowley who, despite being quite taller than him, with those heels, which were now distracting Aziraphale. They clicked quite pleasantly against the cobblestone street. Aziraphale was beginning to find the sound soothing, and he leaned harder on Crowley, making her stumble a little, just to hear it some more. 

He couldn’t help but find Crowley terribly riveting, her long messy hair, the long sharp fingernails, painted a lovely shade of red. Blood red, most likely. Aziraphale thought it more of a garnet, or perhaps a lovely wine. He could go for some wine. Sure, he was quite drunk, but it was always fun drinking with Crowley, talking with Crowley, sitting with Crowley, sometimes the demon would drink until she passed out on his settee, and he could watch her sleep. Which sounded quite creepy! Oh dear. It’s just, she was so peaceful at rest. Normally she was an agitated thing, always—

“Angel!” Crowley’s voice cut through his inner ramble. Aziraphale looked up at her, head swinging a tad wildly, causing him to groan as the world tilted with him. He closed his eyes and tried breathing through his nose, but that just filled him more with Crowley. Crowley. Crowley. “Angel!” No, Crowley! Crowley! Only Crowley! No angels! He distantly heard a sigh and a snap and then suddenly he was no longer outside in the delightfully chill air, but in his too-warm stuffy bookshop.

He groaned, shoving his face in the cool skin of Crowley’s bare neck. Aziraphale huffed when Crowley gently set him down on the settee, the one he wanted to see Crowley sleep on. He was beginning to feel a bit put out, until those delightfully cool hands were pressing against his forehead and cheek. He smiled and hummed appreciatively; he was still feeling quite hot. So hot he began to take off his jacket and waistcoat. He went to start undoing his shirt buttons too, but Crowley’s lithe, thin hands with such long, delicate looking fingers, stopped him.

“Angel, hey, focus for me,” Crowley was forcing Aziraphale’s face to look at her, hands back on his cheeks, a gentle, but firm pressure. He was having a hard time focusing, those beautiful eyes drawing him in, like a golden potato, split and covered with melted butter, salt and pepper seasoning, maybe some chives. Aziraphale was no longer focusing on Crowley, if he ever really had been. Now he was just thinking of potato dishes.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s hazed over expression, his eyes were unfocused, his body strangely lax, and he was flushed with fever. He’d clearly been drugged. And Crowley swore a curse on the man that did this to Aziraphale, his angel. Naïve Aziraphale, who didn’t know better than to take drinks from strangers, or not take his eyes off his own drink, or whatever had happened. Trusting Aziraphale, who wanted to believe the best in humans, having his trust betrayed by some scum.

Aziraphale frowned, noticing Crowley’s distress. The sneer, pulling her painted lips taut, causing the angel to notice the split and spot of blood from the earlier altercation. He gently brushed a finger against the demon’s lower lip, he tried for a miracle healing, only for the effort to nearly cause him to pass out. He groaned, leaning forward, into Crowley’s arms. She was so soft, so wonderfully chill to the touch. Aziraphale grasped and tugged and pulled until Crowley finally settled on the settee next to him. He curled up, pressing his head against her stomach, rubbing his face against the silk dress, relishing in the cool feel of it on his fevered brow.

He woke to pain. The worst, most blinding pain he’d felt in a _long_ time. Aziraphale groaned, as the light of the sun made him feel as though hot pokers were stabbing his eyes. He rolled over, trying to block out the light, and hid his face in something soft, and blessedly cool. He gripped this strangely silky pillow and buried his face in it as much as he could. It smelt like Crowley, which was strange, considering he doesn’t remember the demon ever having been in his room before. He could also hear some kind of music, which was supposed to be quiet, but felt loud in the thrum of his pounding migraine.

When fingers brushed his temple, he startled so badly he fell off of what—no, who he had been laying on. Aziraphale winced as light assaulted his eyes once more, but before he could close them, he saw Crowley. He had been laying on her lap, had pressed his face into her surprisingly soft belly, had, had, what else had he done? He… he can’t remember last night.

Crowley shushed him gently, her hands dancing against both of his temples. A warm rush of demonic power eased the terrible migraine, allowing him to look into her unshielded eyes. He flushed once more, thoroughly flustered. All he could remember was her scent, her chill skin warmed from his body heat, the smooth silkiness of her dress. And he was in clothes unfamiliar to him, a set of wonderfully soft pyjamas that he’d never seen before, a comforting soft blue with little angel wings adorning them.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale looked up at the demon, hand reaching out hesitantly. She grabbed his hand and helped him back up, setting him down in his favourite armchair. With a flick of her wrist, his angel-wing mug was in her hands, filled with warm cocoa. He sipped, finding it to be the perfect temperature, but he couldn’t bask in her kindness right now. “Crowley, my dear, what… what happened last night? I’m afraid I can’t recall anything.”

“Oh Angel,” she looked heartbroken, a sadness in her eyes, so uncharacteristic of the demon. She kneeled down besides his chair, taking his free hand in hers. He noticed idly that she wasn’t wearing her heels any longer, they had been unceremoniously discarded and lay sprawled out on the floor now. Crowley began idly rubbing the back of his hand, before she began telling him what she knew of last night.

Once she was done, Aziraphale was feeling much more himself, but also still a tad, _off_. He had long finished his cocoa, the warmth and familiar taste both a welcome comfort. Crowley still hadn’t moved from her kneeling position. And after sitting still on the settee all night, and now kneeling to tell Aziraphale that he’d been—well, the poor girl must be dreadfully sore and no doubt tired. “Crowley, my dear, wouldn’t you like to sit down? Or lay down perhaps?”

“Angel, I,” Crowley seemed utterly flabbergasted, her mouth opening and closing as it was wanting to do when she couldn’t get her words in order. He noticed then that her lip was split, she’d never healed it? Yet she didn’t wait at all to cure his dreadful migraine. Aziraphale reached forward, unthinking and smoothed the split skin with his thumb, sealing it back up and as added bonus, fixing her make-up where it smeared.

Crowley was stunned into silence once more, and suddenly the angel felt he might have overstepped once more. “Ah, terribly sorry, it’s just,” he fumbled, motioning towards her face as his other hand was still held in hers, and he didn’t want to lose that, “your lip, my dear. It was split, you said, and you, but you, well. You healed my, my headache, well, migraine I suppose, but not yourself?”

“Just a split lip, Angel,” Crowley murmured, hiding her face from his view. “I, I took advantage of you, ‘s what I did. Didn’t feel right to heal it.” She looked positively ashamed of herself, guilt visible in every one of her features. How she was hunched over, how she wouldn’t look him in the eyes, how her fingers trembled against his hand.

“My dear, you did no such thing,” Aziraphale was quick to soothe. How could this wonderful creature before him possibly think so ill of herself? When she saved his, well, his virtue as it were. Not that the ruffian could have taken anything more really, not when he wasn’t _equipped_. He pressed his other hand, still not wanting to lose her fingers rubbing soothing circles in his hand, and pressed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. She looked up at him then and he found himself smiling, “my dear girl, I should be thanking you. Saving me like that. Seems you’re always saving me. And I, I behaved so, so untoward! Can you ever forgive me?”

“Angel, what are you talking about?” Crowley looked in awe, as if she couldn’t believe this holy being in front of her was asking for forgiveness, the exact opposite of what she’d expected. “Aziraphale, I should’ve, should’ve sobered you up! Gotten whatever drugs out! I just, I couldn’t, you were so, and I, I wanted…” She took her hands away and hid her face, and Aziraphale deeply mourned the loss, “you were so affectionate, and I, I just wanted some of that for myself.”

“Oh, Crowley, if that’s all,” Aziraphale was relieved, once again surprising the demon. He started brushing Crowley’s hair with his hands, relishing in the softness and how Crowley positively melted into it. “Crowley, my dear sweet girl, I’ll try to be more affectionate with you,” he smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye, “just so long as you stop being so hard on yourself.” And what else could the demon do, but nod at that, and continue to bask in the warmth of her angel’s affections.


End file.
